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Not many people seem to have cottoned on yet so we’ll try not to be the ones who spoil it for everyone else, but MySpace is a quite wonderful thing. From it we, before leaving for the gig, deduced that Neils (they don’t do apostrophes) Children “only know what they don’t like”, Pink Riot are “sinister electro-punk adolescents” and Fuzzpilots claim to sound like, amongst others, The Clash and System Of A Down (but more on that later).
The last song is already collapsing in on itself as the drum kit falls down: it’s those aforementioned “electro-punk adolescents” Pink Riot! Who are simply the best thing we see all night. Imagine the yelping post-punk frustration of a PiL-era Lydon backed by desolate, eerie keyboard lines plucked from the last Liars album; theirs is a serrated and convulsive sound. Frontman and guitarist Mike Yianni is a whirl of frenzied possession, ripping shards of noise from his guitar, his body jerking like no-one is watching as the venue thrills to dirty, repetitive electronics. As whiplash-abrasive as Test Icicles and already as addictive as Tetris, we predict big things for the Riot.
Now, if your opening track consists of very little other than the line “A lot more money and a lot more sex” repeatedly bellowed, then to avoid an instant mauling there should be at least a) even just a trace of irony lurking somewhere or b) something remotely approaching a good song. Unfortunately Fuzz Pilots come nowhere near either. As we’re thinking this our friend leans in and says they remind her of Bad News from ace legendary satirical comedy series Comic Strip, which isn’t a good thing if you’re remotely serious about making music. As it is Fuzzpilots are like those eternal college bores who form a band only to fill the time in-between Foo Fighters' albums, with not an iota of imagination or inspiration and absolutely, positively nothing of worth to say.
And so from one extreme to another. Even before they play a note it’s clear that if this were a competition based on ‘the look’ then Neils Children would walk away with gold. Llike a gang unified by purpose, they seem intent (and succeed) in sending us home with our ears ringing and our heads abuzz with noise akin to the clamour of Bloc Party giving evils to The Cure at their most snarling. Within two songs they’ve already blown the bass monitor, lead man John Linger apologising profusely for his (apparently) bad voice, to the extent that at one point they open up vocal duties, with all seriousness, to any willing audience member, in a twisted take on ‘Stars In Their Eyes’. Were Gigwise drunk (and if we knew the words) we’d offer, but this is Neils Children and single-minded psychedelic, feedback-sodden Orwell-influenced punk is what they, and they alone, do best. What a glorious sound it is.
Photos by: Simon Leak
